


Found

by plumandfinch



Category: Call the Midwife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 12:04:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4624671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumandfinch/pseuds/plumandfinch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a knock on the door in the middle of bath time and Shelagh answers it to a bundled Sister Winifred.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Found

There’s a knock on the door in the middle of bath time and Shelagh answers it to a bundled Sister Winifred. 

“Sister! Do come in, it’s very cold today.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Turner -”

“Shelagh, please.”

“-Shelagh, but I must make my next house call. My patient is on the next street over and Sister Julienne wanted me to drop this off.”

She drops the battered box into Shelagh’s hands and scurries off down the street with a wave. Shivering, Shelagh closes the door. There’s a note with her name on it tucked under the packing string which she frees as she walks into the sitting room and sets the box on the table.

“Was that Sister Winifred I heard, love?” Patrick says through the hatch.

“Yes, she dropped off something from Sister Julienne.”

She can hear them splashing as she unfolds the single piece of paper.

_My dear Shelagh,_

_The postman arrived today looking quite confused. It seems as if this package has been sitting around the post office for many months and it was only today that they figured out where it should go; I suspect our move confused them. The postman and I believe this was to have arrived in time for your wedding. It’s piqued everyone’s interest here so you must tell us what is in it._

_See you on Saturday,_

_Sister Julienne_

There is her name, barely legible on the label, but her old name. Miss Shelagh Mannion, it says. She traces it with her finger. There’s no sender name and the return address isn’t familiar. Whoever could it have come from? It takes some effort to untie the string and unwrap the paper before she can get to the box inside.

“Dearest, Sister Julienne thinks it’s a wedding present.”

Patrick chuckles, “Goodness, it’s awfully delayed, if it is.”

She catches the edge of scent first as she lifts out the card and pulls back the layers of tissue. It is at once unfamiliar and the oldest thing she’s ever know. _Home_. Woodsmoke, tobacco, sharp fir tree. Her heart pounds in her chest at this recollection. She shifts aside the last piece of delicate paper and cannot breathe. She is seven, the candles are lit on each window sill, Da is in his chair smoking quietly. music is playing on the radio as they unwrap each figure carefully, one by one. Mum never has to caution her to be careful. These are important, precious things and she takes great, slow care in cradling each of them in her small hands before placing them on the polished shelf. From a great distance she hears Patrick.

“So what is this belated present the-”

He rounds the corner to find her gripping the table. He is next to her in two steps and shifts the baby so that he can lay his hand on her arm.

“Shelagh - what is it?”

She can’t say the words so he turns and puts the baby in her basket and then pulls the chair out so she can sit. Tears are splashing down her face now as he peers into the box. There, nestled in ancient green tissue he sees the figures; sheep, donkey, shepherds, kings, Mary, Joseph, the baby. They are worn but exquisitely painted and when he reaches in to pull one out, he is surprised at its weight. He kneels down next to her, a shepherd in his hand. “What is it, my love?” Her fingers trace the figure in his grasp and they sit for a long moment in the quiet. When she speaks, it is so soft that he can barely hear her.

“They are Mum’s.” It is her turn to dip her hand into the box and it emerges with the Mary figure, whom she carefully cradles. “I haven’t seen them since-” silence again, the clock ticks away on the mantle “-since I was seven.”

“They are beautiful.”

She is crying harder now, sobbing really, and she gasps out the words when she can. “Where…were…they?”

He fumbles for the note and scans the handwritten thing quickly. “It seems as if…a cousin took them? This person’s handwriting is almost worse than mine.” He reads it again. “Yes, your mother’s cousin got them after, after your mother died and if I’m understanding this correctly, the cousin died as well and her daughter - Doris, I think, she is the one who wrote the note - found out we were getting married and thought you should have them.” He looks up and she seems smaller somehow, clutching Mary. He sees for an instant the little girl that she was and it makes his heart ache. He stiffly slides up into the other chair and moves so they are sitting knee-to-knee. “Doris says that her mother never put them out, they stayed in the cupboard until she passed but that she always remembered that they had come from your mother.”

“ _Mum_.” The word eeks out from a hidden place in her, with a sharpness and a keening. They’ve not really talked about her and Patrick feels, for the first time, the freshness of her loss.

___

He comes into the living room in the quiet of the middle of the night to feed Angela. They pace as she finishes her bottle and he finds himself drawn to the figures that have found their new home on the mantlepiece. Timothy had banged in from pageant practice just before supper and had found Shelagh on the couch wrapped in one of Patrick’s cardigan’s. Tim had been instantly worried but afterward he handled the figures with awe and great reverence. It was he who insisted they be given the place of honor on the mantle. Patrick had fixed dinner while Shelagh and Tim arranged them, placing each with great care.

He leaves the now empty bottle on the table and starts on the last circle of the room that usually puts Angela back to sleep. Her blue eyes are still open when they get back to the mantlepiece and he sways her gently back and forth. “See, Angel Girl? These are your Mum’s. And before that, they were her Mum’s. One day,” he whispers, “she’ll tell you all about them.” 


End file.
